in the darkened underpass
by currents
Summary: /oh god, my chance has come at last. -AlbusScorpius- for Blue. Slash. Oneshot. Rated T. Enjoy!


for **Blue** {_BlueEyes444_}, who is utterly fantastical.

this is my **first** **serious attempt** at a **slash oneshot**, so _go easy on me, please_?

special thanks to **Chi** {_they say that i'm crazy_} for** BETAing** this for me.

enjoy, and _please_, **don't favourite without reviewing**,_ i beg of you_.

i own nothing.

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><p><em>'and in the darkened underpass<em>  
><em>i thought oh god, my chance has come at last<em>  
><em>but then a strange fear gripped me<em>  
><em>And i just couldn't ask'<em>

**There Is A Light That Never Goes Out**, The Smiths

* * *

><p>in the darkened underpass<p>

/oh god, my chance has come at last

...

Albus Severus Potter is unequivocally obsessed with Muggles.

His grandfather Arthur, or Gramps as the Potter-Weasley-Lupin clan had affectionately dubbed him, had installed in him a great interest in the many fantastic things muggles created. So, appliances, clothing, electronics, you name it, Albus knows about it.

The Potter home is equipped with a nice shiny laptop and high-speed internet, his cousins tote around iPods and modified mobiles made by Roxanne {who is a whiz at Muggle Science} and Uncle George to run on magic, all because of him. When they have parties, the music selection consists of old Beatles albums his Aunt Hermione found in her closet and loud Lily Allen CDs that Lily buys when she goes into town.

His favourite thing to do, especially during Winter Holidays, is to walk around the highstreet and peer about at the shops. Scorpius used to come with him, but now that he had a girlfriend to snog, Albus was left alone to make the trip himself.

…

His jeans and thin green v-neck stand out in the snow-covered London streets. Christmas lights shine, garish green and reds blinking at him from their positions, strung almost carelessly over fences and twining around lamp posts. Shoppers swarm around him, their gleeful voices droning on incessantly about the fantastic deals they had gotten or loudly asking one another about their Christmas plans. Yeah, he loves it here, where you can positively feel city life bursting from your very fingertips.

He's got the lingering warmth of a hastily applied Warming Charm and his hands shoved in his denim pockets. Girls stare at his dull expression and messy, somewhat snowy, black hair and giggle behind their hands, their eyes lingering on his form. He pays them no heed as he walks down the city streets.

Ignoring the noise around him in favor of peering into shop windows, he searches for hidden treasures of sorts. In the back of his mind, Scorpius' laugh at finding treasure in a muggle shop plays over and over in his head, the bright tone to it repeating and he wants to smile, but it's still just too painful. Al shakes his head to rid himself of the thoughts and continues on his way.

His greenasgrass eyes roam left and right in search of something, anything that has _magic_.

{Not the kind that comes from a wand, but the pure kind that comes from finishing a great book, laughing at a horrible joke with your friends, and feeling absolutely complete; if only for a fleeting moment.}

He rounds the corner, ready to give up and come back another day when he's faced with it, so wholly perfect that he's confused beyond a doubt no one's snatched it up before him. It's sitting there in the display of an old music shop, and he can feel it, lingering on his fingertips. The magic, it's running through his veins.

He pushes open the entrance door, an _OPEN_ light that used to work, but now only reads _O_**P**_EN_ almost blinds him with its neon rays and his sinuses are attacked by the musty smell of dust and cobwebs as he enters the shop. He decides he loves the place, right there and then. He walks over to the counter and an old man with salt and pepper patches of hair on his otherwise bald head hurries out, "Yes, yes, how can I help you?"

Al points to it, standing out gloriously among the otherwise nondescript shop and the man nods.

"A beauty, eh chap? I was hoping she'd find a good home sometime soon."

The strange old man rings him up, and Al insists he'll carry it out. He looks kind of odd, holding a huge box with a drum set inside and only wearing a thin green v-neck and worn out jeans out in the snow-covered London streets, but he's found the magic, so he couldn't care less. He holes away in an alleyway and shrinks the box to fit in his pocket before disapperating away with a solid 'pop'.

…

"I never see you around anymore."

Scorpius pauses, turning frantically as if expecting Ron Weasley to appear out of thin air and murder him for sleeping with his daughter. His panic is abated for a moment when he catches sight of Albus standing in front of the couch, obviously having been hiding there for a while. Then his eyes widen as he realizes why Albus had been sorted into Slytherin and him in Gryffindor. He had been caught, Albus had lain a trap and he'd walked straight into it, and his every excuse of, 'I was busy,' or 'Studying, can't chat' is flying out the window, because it's in him to be honest and he should have known he couldn't lie to Albus even if his life depended on it.

He looks kind of funny standing there, one sneakered foot in the fireplace and a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression on his face.

"I, uh, I," he stutters an it's all very ironic that he's the only person who can make a Malfoy stutter and it doesn't even mean anything.

"Are you avoiding me," Al asks, calmly, despite everything. "Have I done something wrong?"

Scorpius looks at him for a moment, eyes unreadable. He looks so lost and lonely there in front of him and it's half painful, half gratifying, because at least, _now he knows how he feels_.

An emotion, something like desperation, hope, and a little adoration flashes through his stormcloudgrey eyes, but then it's gone. And in a flash of silver and green, {oh, they're his two favourite colors, and the irony isn't lost on him in the least} Scorpius is gone too.

He's left staring at green cinders in his Uncle Ron's fireplace wondering how and when everything went so horribly wrong.

…

He considers sending the gift back, forgetting all about it and buying Scorpius a Transfiguration text. Scorpius loves Transfiguration, he'd enjoy the book, and everything would be fine.

Except it wouldn't, and it would be painful and horrible and he's not sure if he can take another Christmas like this, so he carries the shrunken drum set in his pocket like a good luck charm.

…

Truly, _honestly_, he loves Rose. When they had been kids, it had been him and Rose always put together because they were closest in age, with Lily and Hugo tagging along behind them. Then Hogwarts had begun and Rose had become...

Putting it politely, Rose was Miss Perfection and not only in grades.

Hermione Granger had been the stellar student, Rose was the stellar **everything**. She was the best female flyer in the first year flying class, she had an easy personality and a good sense of humor, and there was the fact that oh, she was damn gorgeous and knew it. Rose Weasley had become the definition of dangerous female, and even now with Albus towering over her at 6 foot and in their final year of Hogwarts, she scares him.

Or maybe now it was more envy than fear, Albus wasn't sure, but really, he did love her.

So, yes, he felt awfully guilty when Scorpius accosted him last October and pushed him into a broom closet. Yes, there was this creeping regret building in the pit of his stomach when he pressed his lips hungrily against Scorpius' and maybe afterwards, he told Scorpius that they should never do it again. That it wasn't fair.

But then Scorpius laughed that beautiful laugh {the one like Christmas bells and reminds him of walks down snow-encrusted pavements}, and said, "Life's not fair, Al," and left him there staring at the wall with a curious expression.

Yeah, he was in the wrong, he knew it. But it just tasted so good, and felt so right, and how can anything this wonderful ever be immoral?

Surrendering this, the only chance he gets to feel anything, anything at all, is not an option. This whole self-destruction thing is so typically Slytherin, really, that he's not sure why the self-loathing never started before.

…

They're snuggling on the couch and he's trying really hard not to make a scene on Christmas Eve by walking out, but it's _oh so_ tempting.

Lily sits close by him, which is odd, because usually she's attached to Teddy or Hugo's side, her mouth going a mile a minute; Lily Luna Potter, the one with an infinite amount of things to say. She engages him in conversation multiple times and pretends not to notice when his attention drifts to Rose and Scorpius giggling on the couch. Finally, after Rose has successfully fed Scorpius a box of Peppermint Imps, she speaks up.

"You should tell him you know."

He looks her straight in their identical starbright eyes, ready to lie, deny, _anything_, before changing his mind. He's really sick of hiding, of pretending, it's not very Slytherin of him, but he can't bring himself to care anymore.

"I know."

She nods slowly, giving him a small smile and brings up another topic, her laugh as loud and happy as it had been before. He thanks Merlin for sisters like her.

{Even then, despite Lily's best efforts, he still catches sight of Rose and Scorpius bringing in Christmas, kissing like they'll never come up for air, as the clock strikes 12.}

…

He wakes up the next morning unnaturally early. Lily has her head rested on his shoulder and his back aches from having slept on his Uncle Bill's couch. He moves slowly, as to not wake the slumbering firecracker on top of him. He gently drapes her across the couch, and notices just how beautiful his little sister really has become. He sighs as he thinks of the many boys he'll have to beat up after break.

He pads through the living room into the kitchen, yawning and stretching his arms as he goes. Entering the room, he meets tired grey eyes and freezes. The sun is pouring in from a small window, bathing Scorpius in a light that makes his skin look as creamy as a white pearl and his blond hair positively glow. He's the definition of temptation, he thinks.

Albus and Scorpius regard each other warily and for an instant, Albus is sure that Scorpius can hear his heart pounding away in his chest, louder and louder with each passing second. Then the moment ends and Scorpius droops his head and slumps back against the counter, looking into his coffee with a somber expression. Albus lets out a slow sigh before going to the counter to make a pot of Earl Grey.

He's reaching up {damn his father's short genetics} to open the cabinet, his worn Beatles t-shirt that he had riding up to reveal a small expanse of skin, when he's grabbed and spun around, lips attacking his. Scorpius backs him against the counter, digging it into his back, but he doesn't care, instead running his hands through Scorpius' tousled hair like it's going out of style.

The kiss tastes something like desperation, hope, and a little adoration. And behind his eyes, it's like a thousand of his favourite songs are playing on repeat in his head and firework displays are appearing in the sky. Damnit, he's so fucking in love with Scorpius Malfoy, it fucking _hurts_.

Then he's gone and Albus is left clutching air and listening to the chorus of _'Can't Buy Me Love'_ fades out from between his ears, his eyes still shut tight. He opens one green eye slowly, then the next, and sees Scorpius regarding him from across the room, looking even more rumpled and even more beautiful than before.

He looks as if he's struggling with himself, then, "We need to…"

Albus gives a short bark of bitter laughter, watching Scorpius try and fail to string the words together.

"Quit? Stop? It's not me who has a girlfriend, remember? It's not me who kissed you first either. Make up your fucking mind," he snarls, abruptly furious with the entire situation.

Scorpius stares at him, looking lost and confused and alone, but this time there's no gratification, because _he's given up._

"What should we do then," Scorpius asks him, wearily.

Albus regards him for a long moment, almost drinking in his features, before making a choice.

"Happy Christmas," he says, walking out of the Kitchen and over to large evergreen in the middle of the living room, the gentle snores of his cousin Fred soothing him slightly. He gathers his presents in his arms, turns around, finding Scorpius watching him with a closed off expression. He tosses him a small box from the pile which Scorpius reflexively catches {he was a fantastic Seeker after all}. He takes a pinch of Floo powder from the pot and says the first place that comes to mind.

…

"Albus? What the hell are you doing here?"

Albus looks his Uncle straight in the eyes and says, "Can I stay here, Uncle Charlie?"

His uncle stares at him, shocked for a moment, before recognition dawns over his scarred face.

"Sure. Yeah," Charlie says, finally smiling at the exhausted teenager, ushering him to his guest quarters to get him some sleep.

…

Scorpius stares at the space where Albus' body had been, only moments before. He finally looks down to the small package in his hands and wonders what it is, why he had been given anything, why any of this happened, why he was in love with—

He tears into the neatly wrapped gift, ripping the flimsy paper apart viciously, as if it's the cause of all his troubles. Finally he comes to the box and taped to it is a note.

_Unshrink it._

_Didn't you always say you wanted to learn to play the drums?_

_Told you I'd find the magic._

_**- Albus**_

He opens the box to a gleaming drum set and there's an old Beatles poster of Ringo banging away at his drums, his face alive with the music, the magic. He sinks to floor and cries.

…

Fin.

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><p>hope you enjoyed!<p>

always,

summer


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